Ten Thousand Songs
by erik's musical angel
Summary: One-shot. Christine is very sick. How will Erik respond? Will she even survive? Be prepared for pheels.


**A/N: Hello again :) I have decided to delete Beautiful Music since I had one review and the user made it clear that the story was not going the direction I hoped. Instead, I give you this pheelsy one-shot; ****_Ten Thousand Songs._**** I hope you enjoy it.**

•

•

•

I crept soundlessly, yet quickly, through the secret passageways of the Garnier Opera House. A few uncontrollable tears made their way down my mask as I ran.

Christine was sick, very sick, and she had been this way for days with no improvement whatsoever. I had done everything in my power, I swear, but now I was at my wit's end. I didn't know what was wrong with her._/Ah, there she is._

_Ah, there she is._

I grabbed Madame Giry, clamped a hand over her mouth, and pulled her into the passageway within a second. She struggled a bit, but soon realized it was me.

She broke free of my grip. "Erik, what is the meaning of this?! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!"

I rolled my eyes. Her tone was not helping the stress I was under.

"No, Madame. I just need your help," I muttered.

"What is it, then?"

"It's Christine. She's sick, Madame, a–and I don't know what to do about it." My voice faltered as I spoke. _Due to these blasted tears I suppose._

Madame Giry nodded. "Take me to her. I'll see if she needs a doctor."

•

•

Christine was asleep when Madame and I arrived, thank God. I stood by the door and paced while Madame examined Christine.

I stopped as soon as I heard Madame give a hopeless sigh.

She looked at me. "Christine is in desperate need of a doctor. It's urgent."

"Madame, you are aware that I am unable to take Christine anywhere above ground, correct?"

She sighed again. "I had hoped you would make an exception this once."

"I would, but just because _I_ make an exception doesn't mean all of _Paris_ makes an exception. No one would trust a man such as I."

"I suppose you want me to take her?"

I nodded. "It is the only way to get Christine to a hospital or doctor. I will help you get her into a carriage, but after that, I'm afraid I cannot help you."

Madame Giry nodded understandingly. "I will figure out something. Now, let's get her up to a carriage."

•

•

Christine was easily transported to the nearest hospital, according to Madame, who came back soon after she left to tell me that Christine was safe at the hospital.

She did not, however, tell me what was wrong with Christine or when she would come back home.

I suspect this was for one of two reasons: 1. The old woman wanted to spare me from heartbreaking news, or 2. Nobody really knew what was wrong with Christine.

I wasn't sure of which reason I liked better.

•

•  
_Days Later_

•  
•

"Erik? _Erik_?!"

I heard Madame Giry yelling for me as she ran down to the lair.

"Yes, Madame?" I answered calmly, though inside I wanted to pounce on whatever urgent news she had for me.

"It's Christine—" _dear God in heaven, _"—You need to come to the hospital with me, _right now_."

"Now, Madame, I need to know what is the matter with my wife before I go above."

"Erik, she's dying."

Those three words slapped me 'til I was so numb that I wasn't sure if I had imagined them or not.

"S-She… what?"

"Nobody knows what's wrong with her. She can't hold down any food, she's not breathing very well on her own, she's grown pale and deathly thin, amongst other things, and she sleeps all day. When she's awake, all she does is call for you. When she discovers you're not there, she'll sob and whimper so heartbreakingly that you'd think she'd cry herself to death! She needs you, Erik."

Inwardly, I was struggling to keep myself from losing my composure. I wanted to fall to my knees and sob, but I couldn't; no, I had to stay strong.

I simply nodded and followed Madame Giry up.

•

•

_Oh, Christine._

When I first saw her, I couldn't even recognize her. She was so bony and as white as a sheet.

_There was no doubt about it, she was on her death bed._

The little Giry, Meg, I believe, was watching over Christine when Madame and I arrived.

"Leave," I said, to both Madame and her daughter.

"But sir—" the small one began.

"_**Leave.**_"

They quickly obeyed.

I knelt by Christine's bed side and emptied all of the tears I had saved. "Oh, C-Christine…" were the only words I could say in my sorrow. I felt like this was entirely my fault; that she wouldn't be dying if it wasn't for me.

I sobbed until I felt a gentle hand run it's fingers through my hair.

I looked up. Christine was awake and looking at me. The corners of her mouth were slightly upturned.

"Erik…" she whispered. It sounded as though even whispering was a large effort for her.

I took her hand and kissed it, then buried my cheek in her palm.

"C-Christine."

I let some of my tears fall into her hand. She moved her thumb over my cheek to wipe some away.

We remained like that for several moments until Christine spoke again.

"W-Will you sing to me?"

I nodded. "Oh, Christine, I would do anything if you asked, even the impossible. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yes, I know. I just want you to sing for me right now," she whispered weakly.

I sat up a bit straighter and began to sing from my belly. This song would be for Christine's ears only and nobody else's.

I made my voice travel from her left ear to the other, then into her throat and down her body to her stomach. I used my voice to caress her and hold her tightly once more. I sang with such a passion that she closed her eyes in ecstasy.

When I finally stopped, she was smiling at me; a full smile that must have taken all of her strength.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Never thank me. You deserve ten thousand songs like this one." I forced myself to hold back more tears. I had failed her; I hadn't given her all she deserved.

She was silent for a few moments, and I thought she had fallen asleep.

"Erik…" she whimpered, "I'm frightened."

She was crying; my angel was crying.

"It's alright, my angel. I-I'm frightened, too." It was taking all my strength to hold back a flood of tears.

"But you're not the one who's dying," she said.

I sighed. "Yes, that is true. But I can't bear the thought of losing you. You are the only reason I bear living in this Hell on earth."

"You have your music."

"'Tis all in vain if I don't have you to play it for."

"Don't say that," she sniffled, "I know how much you love your music, but if my death makes you stop composing, I feel guilty."

"Christine, I only mean to say that I love you more than anything else in this entire world, and life will never be the same without you."

She nodded and sniffled again. "I love you, too, Erik."

Then she leaned forward and gave me one of her sweet forehead kisses.

I savored it, for I knew it could be the last one I'd ever receive.

She laid back down and I could tell she was tired. I sang a sweet lullaby for her until she was sleeping peacefully.

I still held her hand in mine and I kept my thumb over the skin between her thumb and index finger, so I could always feel her pulse there.

I sat and watched her intently, in case anything should happen while she slept.

My mind must have wandered off, for I didn't notice anything around me until Christine spoke again.

Well, it wasn't necessarily speaking.

She started to move a bit, and then she was murmuring nonsensical things, and then her eyes were open and looking up.

This all took place in a matter of seconds before she gave one last little whimper and lay very still.

Her pulse stopped and her breathing slowly faded away, and I knew my angel was finally in heaven.

I stood and left as quickly as I could. Anger and sadness, amongst other emotions, were already running through my veins, and I didn't want anyone to suffer my wrath.

_No, this wrath must be unleashed in privacy._

And soon, I was home.

•

•

A man with a mask walks to his home.

He is calm. _Too calm._

So calm that you can sense the burning anger gushing through his blood.

He walks to a large organ and picks up a bundle of sheet music. He looks through the pages before his hands begin to tremble, and he rips the sheets to shreds.

He proceeds to destroy every piece of music in the home, going so far as to destroy a violin and a peculiar looking music box along with some of the organ's keys and pipes.

But he does not stop his rampage there; no, 'tis only the beginning.

He destroys everything in the house, save for one room. The room appears to have belonged to a woman. The man does not even enter the room, he only looks inside of it with sad eyes.

Other than that room, the man has saved his best suit, a dagger, and a strange coffin.

He dresses in his best suit, kneels by the coffin and says this prayer:

_"God in heaven, must you be so cruel to take her away from me?! Why couldn't you have let me enjoy happiness for a bit longer? You must want me dead, for you have taken away everything I have ever cared for. _

_Well, God, you are finally getting what you wish. I pray that you will at least let me spend eternity in heaven, which is where I'm sure she is now, but I know you will send a demon like me back to Hell… _

_She was a good girl, God! Why did you end her precious life so prematurely?! I suppose you wanted your angel back in heaven._

_But I do thank you for allowing me to know her, God. She was the only good thing in my Hell of a life._

_If you do send me to Hell, tell her that I love her, please.  
Amen."_

By the time the man had finished the prayer, his body was shaking with sobs. He crawled into the coffin, dagger in hand.

"I-I loved her so much."

The dagger pierced his heart.


End file.
